Death Became
by Liz Inverse
Summary: A survivor of the Culling of Stratholme's dark tale as she carries out the will of the Lich King.
1. Chapter 1  Birth

It's cold, in this place….my breath shows in puffs of white as I exhale. It shocks me to see that my body still has warmth when so many of the others…are cold. The walls are made of stone and skin, of bone and plant and everything that has rotted and died. The light shines green and navy blue on the walls…sickly and sinister at the same time. In the shadows lurk the things of which children scream about in their nightmarish fears, things which men and women try to desensitize themselves to, and things which drive the elderly to their death. The stench is nearly unbearable in this fortress, this necropolis…and I wish more times than not during the day, that I had died so that I would not have to smell it.

I wish that I had died before becoming one of them….

_ Death Knight. _

I had not wanted it this way, I had had only wanted….to be by him….to be by Darion.

I am not a simple-minded woman though. This was the only decision I ever made based on the feminine feelings locked away in my heart…but what else did I have? What choice did I have but to die, leaving nothing of myself behind on this earth? No one would've remembered who I was, and not even the name Anastasja would've remained. Another corpse left to burn on a pyre is what I would've been. Just another former life form rotting in a pit. No…I don't want that…I don't want to be forgotten like that!

_Why doesn't Darion remember me…? Was I that insignificant in his life?_

My tale begins during the Culling of Stratholme, and the burning of the city following. The prince of the land, Arthas, whose name I only knew from how highly the city spoke of him, charged through the city and killed everyone in sight. The scourge was an undead army led by an enigmatic force they called the Lich King. It had delivered supplies tainted with a devouring plague to which there was no cure. This plague would turn each and every soul it touched into the undead. It was then that they would be added to the ranks of the growing undead army, and sent to strike down the rest of the living. Arthas…thought it wise to deliver us from that fate.

Somehow, being just a child then, I stayed behind the blade of one of the subordinates of Arthas. It was strange, as the men were ordered to slaughter everything in sight, a meeting of our eyes halted him. Everyone else was slaughtered…friends…family, young and old. But me, he left…why I do not know this day. Perhaps it was a lucky moment of conscience, when my blue eyes met his. Or perhaps he had not killed anyone and only made the motions of doing so. It's a mystery I will never know the answer of.

For days amidst my burning house on my knees I cried, my parents charred bodies lying next to me. Both my clothes and hair singed, and my feet stained black from soot. How I found the energy to wail on the third day, I don't know. That didn't stop me from crying as loud as I could, for I could feel the grip of death creeping up on me. The house kept burning and burning without consuming, but there was no way out of it. There was nothing left for me to do but cry out one final time.

You won't find history tell you this same tale, as fabrication is often used to fill in the blanks the unknown creates. On the third day, my wailing drew the attention of one lone young man, a teen investigating the city with the rest of his kind. A young man of the Scarlet Crusade, named Darion Mograine. He found his way past the burning beams of the house, thinking I was some pitiful creature needing to be put out of its misery. He entered the room with one hand gripping the handle of his sword, ready to pull it out on a moment's notice, and promptly stopped mid-step.

He did not expect to find me.

Perhaps he thought of me a ghost at first, for there was no one left of warm flesh and blood in the city. He stood there, for several heartbeats, watching me with his blue eyes large. Realizing someone else had entered the house, I stopped crying and looked over to him, my own eyes as large as his, frightened that he might be Arthas come back to finish the job…or one of the Scourge that now roamed freely in the city.

We stared at each other for what felt like forever, before he darted forward and grabbed me. He pulled me from my house as the magic keeping the fires burning but not consuming faded, the upper level finally collapsing onto the lower. Carrying me as a man carries a woman over the threshold; he pressed my face into his shoulder guard, and hurried from the house as it crumbled into a pile of burning tinder and rubble.

He let me cling to him as hard as I could as we ran through the city…murmuring to me his name, and the names of his father and brother…telling me short stories of warmer places, happier times. Not letting me see the bodies of the deceased, frozen in the poses of horror that they'd taken when death claimed them. Not letting me see the undead that milled through the streets, some chasing us, others eating those that did not turn.

The history books tell you differently at this point…but he was carrying me still, when the Skeleton mage with the fiery skull blasted open his back with magic. They don't tell you that he collapsed to the ground, barely finding the strength to hold himself up so that he would not crush that which he protected, and made sure his body covered her enough so that the mage would not see what he carried. No one knows in the scant moments before his father came, that he made a promise that day, that moment; to a strange little girl he didn't even know the name of…that he would protect her. That he would guard her from harm….that she needn't worry.

Shortly thereafter, Alexandros Mograine, father to Darion arrived. He dispatched the mage and the other Scourge that had gathered to feast upon Darion's body. We were both rushed from the city, and back to the camp that the Scarlet Crusade had made some distance outside of the city. I was pried away from Darion by strong, uncaring fingers, and shoved into a tent far from his own.

One thing you must understand about the Scarlet Crusade…they are driven out of fear. They fear that which they do not understand, mostly being things that are unnatural to a Human…namely other races and the Undead. They could not understand how a young girl would be the only survivor from Stratholme when everyone else was slaughtered by Prince Arthas. Even more, they could not understand how only one girl would not be touched by the plague.

Spy! Traitor! Trap! Decoy!

These words were thrown around without regard to my presence. As though I were some deaf, ignorant creature instead of a frightened human being. Normally they would slaughter one such as I on sight, out of fear that I may be an undead in disguise. But out of respect for Darion, they did not. Darion requested…before slipping into unconsciousness, that I be taken care of…an order which his father, who commanded the group, emphasized.

Since euthanizing me was no longer acceptable, they debated for hours on what they should do with me. I listened as they discussed everything from my genealogy (perhaps my resistance to the plague came from some unfavorable cross-breeding in my family ancestry?), to my uselessness to the world if I did not follow the path of light. Several times I asked to see Darion, but they ignored me.

Alas the dignitaries of the Scarlet Crusade came to a decision. An interrogation was in order. All that came to the Scarlet Crusade were interrogated before being accepted into the order. This was to prevent any unwanted or imperfect people from tainting the holy ranks. I would be taken to the Scarlet Monastery, their base outside of their city of Hearthglen within Tirisfal Glades, if my answers met their expectations. There I would be kept, under strict watch, to be protected and to protect the world should the Plague begin to take effect upon me.

They left me within the care of Interrogator Vishas, a man of cruel expertise and sadism…a man who enjoyed his work. All night there was pain…pain…unending pain. Hot needles…blunt, pointed metal…chains…a bed of nails…ropes…whips…all of these…all night. I cried and screamed…I answered each of his questions honestly…but Vishas would only cackle in his high-pitched voice and continue. I wished for death…I begged for death….a nine year old child should never have to utter these things.

The next morning, Maxwell Tyrosus, a member of the Scarlet Crusade I would later come to trust as a father, found me in Vishas' tent. He had come to fetch me at the request of Darion, whom had awoken. Darion had survived his wounds and the dark sorcery behind them, having led from the darkness by the Light. Sir Tyrosus was horrified that the rest of the Crusade would find reason behind torturing such a small child, especially when she'd obviously suffered so much already.

I no longer cared what would become of me by that point, as I lay upon Vishas' bed of nails, watching them argue. Was this place truly my salvation, or would I have been better off dying in my house with my parents? Why hadn't Arthas killed me as well…? Why was I left to suffer?

The only thing I had to comfort me now was the memory of Darion's kindness….and his promise. At least…at least this would be enough to warm my heart until I made it to heaven.

I fell unconscious before Sir Tyrosus had finished arguing with Vishas, the stress from the night and the multiple flesh wounds Vishas had given me finally catching up to me. I was lost within a dreamless sleep for days, curled up within myself and praying for relief to my pain. I was too scared to ever wake again, I felt. I'd rather hide in my sleep so that I could no longer feel or see or hear.

But….I hope at least…that I hadn't dreamt feeling a gentle kiss be pressed to my cheek. I hope that it was not a dream that I heard a voice whisper an apology to my ear. It was so comforting, just that little bit…it was so much, for such a tiny gesture. I hope….I hope it wasn't a dream.

I awoke days later in the town of Hearthglen, in the care of an older woman whom had lost her only child to war. She was a kind older woman, an acquaintance of Maxwell Tyrosus, a woman I always wondered if he'd loved at one time. Love was a tricky thing among the Scarlet Crusade, I learned later. It was not romantic most times, for love would drive people to do things not in the favor of the Order. Love would cloud the mind; muddle the senses….weaken the heart if it were taken away. Alexandros Mograine was an excellent example of this, I've heard….he was driven and haunted by the memory of his wife Elena, whom he loved most of all. It was love that caused him to protect Darion and ignore his other son Renault….it was love that finally drove his family to its end. No, love was feared….love was kept secret. Love could be used as a weapon as much as it weakened….love had no place in the order of the Scarlet Crusade.

This woman, Einat was her name, became a protective foster mother. She advised me to behave to the best of my ability, to do everything I could to become unnoticed by the leaders of the Scarlet Crusade. Already Maxwell and Alexandros were working to remove my presence from their records, their pity for me driving them to give me at least some semblance of a happy life. With Einat's instruction I would all but disappear from their sight, and they would forget that Einat ever lost her child.

In the time that followed my arrival to Hearthglen, there were days when Darion and his father would not have to fight the Scourge. These days, as few and far between as they were, were precious to me. They would take me with them to the fresh air and lush hills of the Hinterlands, to fish in the clear, fresh ponds there. So different the Hinterlands were to the Western Plaguelands outside of Hearthglen. So quickly the Scourge destroyed what I barely recalled being acres of endless, healthy farmland. Now the land was barren, the trees dead and grass brown. A heavy orange cloud, still tainted with the scent of the Scourge constantly hangs over the Plaguelands now, blotting out the sun. You could never tell this laid to the south of the Plaguelands, and I wished every day that I got to spend there with Darion would never end.

His father always spoke little to me during our outings, Darion dominating most of the conversation with me. He held my attention no matter what he spoke about, no matter how inane or confusing it became. I realize now that these trips were most likely just business to them in the end, that they were still keeping watch over me to make sure that I remained unchanged, and untouched by the Scourge Plague. These days were too few for my heart, for after that Darion and Alexandros would return to not knowing me.

It was for my protection I know, to continue to keep me hidden in plain sight and forgotten about. Still I would tempt fate, and some days sneak into the keep in Hearthglen, just to catch a glimpse of Darion. I had a hiding place within their main chamber, behind a collection of tapestries that hung along the walls. Here I would wait, crouched to the floor on all fours, waiting for a glimpse of Darion as he came to report his day's activities to his superiors. Sometimes, just once in a while, he would turn his head slightly to glance over his shoulder, a tiny smirk gracing the corners of his mouth, and notice me.

These calm days could not last, unfortunately. Soon Alexandros Mograine was murdered they say, by the Scourge in Stratholme. The order of the Scarlet Crusade was shaken, and many did not like the new direction it was taking. This group broke off, broke away, led by Sir Maxwell, taking with them many of the Scarlet Crusade. They extended their hand to those of us living in Hearthglen, offering us a new home with them, although they had no city, no town with secure walls to protect them from the Scourge. I wanted to leave with them, for I felt that, now that Alexandros was dead and Darion missing, I felt that if Maxwell left, I would no longer be safe. Einat could not find the courage to follow him, too afraid of the world outside of Hearthglen after all that had happened between the downfall of Lordaeron-the kingdom in which we lived-and the Scourge destroying the entire country to ever leave.

For six years we hid in plain sight yet, dutifully following the orders given to us, no matter how extreme they became. Inquisitions began by the fifth year, as ordered by the Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan. His orders created paranoia amongst the ranks of the Crusade, filling their heads with lies that the undead could still look human, still smell and sound human, but be part of the Scourge. Einat and I escaped this inquisition for a year…until one day a guard of the city openly noted how I had strange, violet-black hair while Einat had brown…and how we looked nothing alike.

Suddenly the girl that survived the Culling of Stratholme was remembered. The leaders of the Crusade were furious that they had forgotten, furious that Alexandros had tricked them until his death…furious that Einat had betrayed them all of these years. She was tried for treason immediately and found guilty…and hung at the gallows until dead…all within an hour.

I found myself once again in the care of Vishas, whom had been ordered to extract any information about Stratholme that might've been gained the first time he interrogated me but had since been lost. This time, however, I was not a nine year old child. This time I was seventeen….and Vishas' perverted nature truly came forth.

For six months I endured his interrogating, my will much stronger and harder to break than it had been before. My toenails were pulled from my feet, and he slowly began to chip away at my fingernails each day. My fingers were broken but then healed, Vishas making sure that my body, which he touted to be artistic perfection, not be marred by crooked fingers. Hot pokers were shoved into my arms, my legs, my breasts. He whipped me, he abused me. He even took my dignity while trying to break me but I would not break. There was a light in my mind, a light that Darion had shown me and left in my care when he disappeared, and it was this light that I clung to in the darkness of the Scarlet Monastery dungeon.

Finally one night Vishas was careless with my chains, and I killed him with the very tools he used to torture me with. I rushed from the Monastery then and fled, naked, across the forests of Tirisfal Glades, and out into the Western Plaguelands. My strength waned as I crawled towards the lake that separated the path to Tirisfal from the road that would lead to the Hinterlands, and I could barely crawl. If I were to die then, I wanted to at least see the Hinterlands one last time, to breathe its fresh air, to drink its clear water. Memory flooded me as I tried to pull myself across the rock and twig littered ground, driving to mind the happier days that I would spend with Alexandros and Darion. As before, I found the strength to scream one last time, but instead of a mindless wail I called for him….I called for Darion. It was the first and last time I would ever cry someone's name in weakness.

To my surprise, someone answered my cry…but it was not Darion.

A large Draenei man, whom introduced himself later as Anchorite Truuen was my savior this day. Gently he carried me to Chillwind Camp, and there he and a High Priestess tended to my wounds and healed me. I discovered that those in the camp were part of the group that had branched away from the Scarlet Crusade, and had created an organization called the Argent Dawn.

The Argent Dawn proved to be accepting. They listened to my story eagerly; amazed that someone could survive the Culling of Stratholme. They did not judge me; they did not look at me in fear. The Anchorite that had rescued me proclaimed that I must have been deeply blessed by the light to avoid death in that place, and without another question the accepted me as one of their own.

For two years I trained with the Argent Dawn, under the careful leadership of Commander Ashlam Valorfist. I made sure to learn everything I could, and quickly I became Anastasja of the Argent Dawn, a warrior of light and justice. Many proclaimed that my fighting style and stance was an immature form of Darion's own, a compliment that I accepted with a fluttering heart.

I discovered, quite by accident during my first year with the Argent Dawn, that Darion had been found some time before, and had joined their ranks as well. I would catch glimpses of him every now and again, but my station was in the Western Plaguelands, and his in the Eastern. He seemed different, from what I could see from afar…his face more chiseled, and his blonde hair longer. He looked more mature, but the youth had not been completely driven from his face by experience.

With how I mimicked his fighting style perfectly, and how hard I worked at every task given to me, it was only a matter of time before I was taken to the Eastern Plaguelands by Commander Valorfist, and introduced to Darion. My heart raced as we approached him, his back facing us as he spoke with others of his rank. In an almost ironic reenactment of the days where I would sneak into Hearthglen Keep, Darion turned to glance at us over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed as Commander Valorfist introduced me, and my heart fell as I realized there was no recognition there. Time and hardship had driven my presence from his memories as it had the rest of the Crusade's. Downhearted I retreated to my tent…intent to release my grief into the muffling solitude of my pillow, and start the next day without any thoughts of him lingering in the corners of my mind.

For several nights after meeting him again, memories began to plague my dreams. They would become skewed as dreams like to do to our memories, turning them nightmarish or embarrassing. Memories of my parents haunted me, and I dreamt of being a child being cared for by two charred corpses. I dreamt of Alexandros and Darion taking me fishing, but both of them had huge gaping sword wounds in the center of their chests. Dreams of Darion turned into horrific nightmares where he would kill me, or order my death.

But there was one dream out of all of them, which was stranger than the rest. A dream that I now hold close to my heart, a dream that I guard with the ferocity of an animal protecting its kin. This dream leaves me troubled even now…yet anxious at the same time. In this dream, Darion is with me….

The tent shifts as he enters…it almost sounds so real….

"Forgive me for this Anastasja…" he whispers, as I feel a gentle kiss pressed to my mouth. "Forgive me for ignoring you until now…but you are the last shred of light and life I have in this dead world…"

I feel my heart break at this, and tears well up underneath my closed eyelids. "Then take what you need from me," I say, as gently lays feather-light kisses across my chin to my ear. "I don't want you to suffer."

"No…" he whispers, his voice heavy with regret, "I can't…for you must not wake up…and we must remain strangers." In my dreams (although it felt as if I were awake somehow…) I open my eyes to find him hovering over me, his blue eyes once full of life were now weary and tired. I lift my hand and place it upon his cheek, and he shuts his eyes at the feel of it.

"Then drug me…use magic…make me stay asleep…I don't want this dream to end." I whisper.

He holds me in the way that men hold women then…but it is so quiet. No voice but an occasional breath….no sound except for a slight shift of covers. It….it was a dream, wasn't it? Like before as a child…I…I dreamt of it, didn't I? I cannot bring myself to hope for otherwise…it would hurt me too much.

The next day I woke alone, no sign of Darion, no sign that I'd even dreamt of him save for the images that danced through my mind and the sensations that plagued my body yet. I pushed this into the guarded place in my heart, and returned to my duties as Anastasja of the Argent Dawn….I would not let feminine fancies tarnish me now.

That day I was sent to Ironforge on a diplomatic mission to the King, to bring a request for more weapons to arm the ranks to fight against the growing threat of the Scourge. Naxxramas, a horrid floating necropolis had taken up residence over Stratholme around the time that Alexandros had been killed. Every day more Scourge came from its bowels, falling upon the Plaguelands like a cursed rain.

As I returned with the crate of weapons, a strange feeling befell me. There was something odd about the Eastern Plaguelands that day…it was too quiet…too eerie. The gargoyles and giant yellow leeches that once crawled freely over the barren hills were missing, and there was a strange odor to the air, one much different from the lingering scent of undead.

As my Griffin landed I discovered Light's Hope Chapel…the home base of the Argent Dawn…a war zone. Piles of Scourge bodies covered the area in front of the dilapidated chapel as a fire burnt away their taint. Rows of sheet-covered Argent Dawn were lined up next to the chapel, priests, friends and families blessing their bodies and grieving their passing. During my mission the Scourge had attacked, and as my eyes met Sir Maxwell's, who stood in the middle of the slain Argent Dawn soldiers, I knew that Darion was no longer there.

This was but the beginning of a strange series of events. The first thing that had happened was the sudden disappearance of Naxxramas. Following the attack upon Light's Hope Chapel, the massive necropolis disappeared, but the scores of undead did not stop coming. A strange plague, one reminiscent of the one that had infected my home city began to spread across both continents, turning those it touched into Undead Scourge as it had done my friends and family, making the most innocent of people into to minions of the Lich King. A new necropolis, smaller in size than Naxxramas but threatening none the less, came to hover over the mountain range behind Light's Hope Chapel, on the edge of Scarlet Crusade territory.

I was among a group of people sent out to investigate this new building. We were ordered to do so as stealthily as possible…as to not alert the Scarlet Crusade to our presence. We were told to eliminate any Scourge threat that we found, and to find out who or what resided within the new Necropolis. What we found however, was no ordinary Scourge….for the first time those of us who did not fight on the front lines against Arthas after he betrayed his people and fell into the service of the Lich King…for the first time we were faced with Arthas' own Order….Death Knights.

We would not go down without a fight however, and put up a fight until the very end. Despite the difference in skill and power, our spirits would not be dampened. We were the Light! They were the Shadow! The Light would drive away the Shadow with its brilliance! These things became a mantra within my head as I swung my sword…I did not break under Vishas' care, and I would not break now!

It wasn't until I saw the one who led them, the man in black armor whom rode upon a dark, demonic looking steed, that I knew our fight was futile. He walked his mount towards us slowly, his posture and stance much too familiar to me. One hand extended away from his body, his fingers tightly wrapped around the hilt of the very cursed blade that Alexandros Mograine carried to his death…the Ashbringer. I knew, as he approached us, that despite our struggle our battle was over before it began. Shadow was thick here; tangible…it was ready and waiting to snuff out the Light that tried so hard to tear through it. The Rider's blue eyes no longer held recognition; we were no longer friend or foe.

I knew then…that we were all….dead.

We were taken into the Ebon Hold, the name of the Necropolis floating above us, and for days we were left in the cold dark corners of it among bodies of the dead and rotting. Those of us still clinging to life were tested upon daily by their mad scientists, testing new plagues, and new poisons. We were given no food, no water. Some among my group had taken to eating the dead, while others like me searched out edible moss and drank the water that collected in dank puddles in the corners. Many of us died, and even I felt my strength and life fading.

Still, I could not let go completely. My head was full of a better time, the past with Darion, the time when his eyes held life…the past with my parents before the Culling. Every happy memory I could have ever hoped for, every dream that I had dreamt. No, I would not die and leave nothing of myself upon this earth! I had nothing to remember me, not even something a simple as a child, an heir to my memory! I would not die without leaving my name somewhere, I would not! These Scourge…they would not rob me of that privilege!

Several times Darion would make rounds through the lower levels of the Ebon Hold, and pause near the cart where the bodies of my group were piled, those of us that still barely clung to life scattered amongst them. He would stare long and hard at me, considering…thinking…as if he were trying to remember. Any recognition from him now was too much to hope for….or so I thought.

"That one." He said, his voice unearthly and cold. He extended his hand and pointed at me as a Necromancer joined him. She nodded once and then held her hands out, chanting a spell. My body was lifted into the air, and suddenly I felt as if a shadow had befallen me, choking out the light.

A man in blue armor charged up to Darion as the woman worked her magic, shouting at him angrily, screaming "The initiates are mine to choose only!" I faintly recalled hearing this man's name before…apparently he was high in the Lich King's army, a man by the name of Razuvious who instructed and trained the Lich King's army of Death Knights. Darion did not even look at him as he screamed, his glowing blue eyes finding mine and holding them entranced with their icy depths.

"Do you vow to serve and obey the Lich King's will? Do you vow to follow him in his greatness, for all eternity?" the Necromancer asked me as her spell dissolved the tattered rags my clothing had become. My eyes continued to search Darion's, trying to find an answer, and my heart filled with fear. Following the Lich King…and abandon the Light? No! The light is all I had left; it was all I could cling to now that Darion was one of them!

Yet…what good did humanity…the chosen of the Light…do for me? Abuse…torture…everything despicable that could happen to a human happened to me. The one that had guided me to the light was already in the Shadows….staring at me with his blue eyes empty of life. What was left for me in the Light?

"Yes…" I replied, shutting my eyes, "I…I will serve him."


	2. Chapter 2  Initiate

It is now the fifth month of living within the shadows. Everything is cold, but my skin has nearly grown accustomed to it. I no longer remember what the warmth of light was like, nor the taste of good food, or the feel of a warm bed. These things are but a distant shadow of a memory, as my focus is now to obey the Lich King, to serve him and carry out his will across the light-filled lands of the living.

Or it was...now there is some...doubt.

As I pledged my life for the Lich King, a transformation came over me. I felt ice freeze my insides, yet my flesh became like poison and my blood like hot acid. Over the months my atramentous hair, cut short into a boyish style in the past to fight against fleas and lice, began to grow out. An indigo sheen touched it in the dim lighting, and the locks began to twist with curl. The frozen darkness of the Lich King's citadel far north of where we stood marked me as it's own. My blue eyes took on the icy glow, similar to Darion's. I became a walking embodiment of unnatural death, yet...

….I did not feel dead at all.

I could still feel the steady pumping of my heart within my breast.

_"Your heart... its incessant drumming disgusts me. I will silence it, as I did my own." _

I was placed with a group of initiates and trained for the first four months of my life in the shadows. I was given a small room within the Ebon Hold, my new home, but there was no comfort in even this small space. A hard bed was where I rested at night, my sleep the only time my mind was free enough to mourn my choice, and reel in horror at the sights I now witnessed daily. My sleep was frequently interrupted by nightmares that would oftentimes wake me, screaming my fear to the darkness of my room. I would forget as soon as the haze of sleep ascended, my mind devoid of thought for myself except the eager anticipation of instruction so that I could better serve the Lich King.

Only three other initiates and myself from my group would be led to a small room at what I felt was midday (for I could not sense the passage of time as I once had), and served small rations of stale food and tepid, unidentifiable meat that more than once would burn our mouths with a toxic-feeling juice as we chewed it. Why only four of us were fed this while the others dined on ghouls and the flesh of the unworthy, I never bothered to ask.

At the start of this, the fifth month, I was gathered with the other initiates training on the dummies made from the stripped corpses of our foes. Some had been human, some Dwarf, some Orc...there had been a corpse of every race of Azeroth among those we trained upon. When the bodies became too mangled, the undead Apothecaries would sew the bits that were still recognizable together to a body that was, for the most part, in better condition than the last. This created strange displays of bodies with four heads where limbs should've been, or a sack of plagued rye with feet sewn all over it.

It was macabre, grisly, but on the foul display I had honed my skill, and steeled my nerves for what was to come. The Lich King would call upon us soon, this much I knew, and I had to be stronger to serve him better! A mere Squire on the verge of Knighthood I had been before, now my strength extended far beyond that, yet I knew I was not strong enough.

Gripping my sword tightly, I faced my foe for today, a hung barley sack so heavy with the stench of rot and disease that it had begun to bleach the skin of the blighted limbs sewn to it, a sickly green-white. My eyes fixed on what would, on a living, or unliving foe, be a vital point just right of the stomach, I ran towards the sack. Smoothly I swung, my sword, blade large and gleaming as if made from black spinel, cutting the air with the slightest of noise. A disgusting sound filled the air around me as my blade sliced the bag, the contents of which, nearly liquefied with rot and maggots, spilled onto the ground in a torrential gush. I watched the flood of mire without emotion, almost fascinated as the soft-bodied insect larvae exploded upon hitting the ground, adding to the sticky mess I'd just created. So quickly even this insignificant life was snuffed out, so easily it had come to an end with just a swing of my sword...

"Students gather!" Instructor Razuvious barked. I and those in my squad jumped to attention and hastened to gather in front of him, obedient students until the end. We all wore tattered cloth robes and cowls, hardly proper armor, but fitting attire for those not yet ready to join the exalted ranks of our superiors. Koltira Deathweaver and Thassarian would command us once we graduated from Razuvious' instruction, and their orders came from Highlord Darion, who answered directly to the Lich King.

Darion...Darion...he was someone important...the Highlord? Yes...that was all right...? For the first time since entering the shadows, a frown touched my otherwise emotionless face. _Darion_...something nagged me about him. He wasn't just the Highlord to me...he was something else, something I'd forgotten so very recently...

The reason I was here wasn't all desire to serve the Lich King...

"Today marks the first day of the trials that will prepare you to honor the Lich King's name in battle!" Razuvious said in a clear, stern voice. He paced back and forth in front of us, a tall, muscular man with his brown hair and beard cut close to his face. He wore bright blue armor, oddly colorful in contrast to the dank green and purple shadows of Ebon Hold. We initiates had learned much of Razuvious during his months of instruction. He had been among the finest of the Death Knights left following the Third War, and chosen by the right hand of the Lich King, the high lich Kel'Thuzad, to train exceptional initiates within the bowels of Naxxramas.

Naxxramas, the necropolis...it was a place we Initiates honored, but...why do I feel an underlying sense of disgust...?

"You will be expected to carry out each order with utmost precision and perfection," Razuvious continued, eying us all distastefully. "If you are incapable to complete all of your tasks, I will have realized that I had made a horrendous mistake in allowing you to be an initiate..." he paused, and in my peripheral vision, I saw him look at me. "...you do not want me to realize this." his voice was dark and growling as he finished, Ever so slightly, a muscle near my mouth twitched, as I recalled, unbidden, the distinct recent memory of my life in the shadows beginning not with Razuvious' decision, but...Darions...?

I blinked twice as a time before that returned; my mission to investigate the Ebon Hold with other squires and new knights of the Argent Dawn. The hopelessness as we waited for death after our capture...

"You." Razuvious snapped, and it took me mere heartbeats to realize that he had indicated me. The confusion slipped from my mind as I focused upon my Instructor, and I stepped forward dutifully. With a cruel sneer, he beckoned me to follow him, which I did without hesitation. He brought me to the center of the training hall, toward a lowered section of the floor. The lowered part created an arena of sorts, and I had seen students duel each other within it.

I paused briefly as I followed Instructor Razuvious, my eyes drifting over the meat wagons lining the outer edge of the training room. Ghouls bent over some, greedy slurping audible even as far away from them as I was. Others had magical glows surrounding them as Necromancers performed their magic spells upon them, creating new Initiates. I felt a definite shiver go down my spine for the first time in months, and suddenly everything around me became sharper, as if I were seeing it all for the first time. I had been among them...I had watched many of my comrades die...I had watched them consumed...

"Initiate, your first task is here." Razuvious was saying, drawing my attention from the meat wagons. The strange feeling I'd just had faded, and once again I could feel the certainty of my pledge to the Lich King. I followed Razuvious' gaze down into the arena, which now had sickly looking people chained to the circular stone wall surrounding the duel area. Their gazes were baleful as they stared up at us, and a couple of the women began to cry. These were not Death Knight Initiates...they were likely not even capable of picking up a sword by the looks of some of them...

"What shall I do?" I asked, my voice hollow. Razuvious' sneer turned into a smirk, and he gestured roughly towards the prisoners.

"Pick one and put them out of their misery. Prove to me that Mograine runt was right to choose you as an initiate before you were ready." Razuvious declared. Again the uneasy feeling returned, but it faded again as I focused on the gaunt bodies below me. One face in particular stood out to me, the darkened skin and tattered red clothing reminiscent of someone I'd yet forgotten, but someone that filled me with uncontrollable hatred.

I jumped down into the arena easily, and approached the shackled man. Those chained near him shifted away as I approached, several dozen pairs of large, frightened eyes upon me. He gave me a feeble smile, his face not quite as narrow and snake like as another I could almost remember. I stood in front of him for several long minutes, my ice-touched blue eyes boring into his brown. Suddenly, I smiled, an expression of warmth and ingenuity that shocked the man in front of me. Without hesitation I reached out and unlocked his shackles, his eyes large and disbelieving.

"Go on." I said softly, my smile not wavering. The man glanced at Razuvious, who narrowed his eyes at me, but did not move. He then looked back to me, tears filling his eyes and a grateful smile replacing the former nervous one.

"Light bless you miss...you are an angel amongst demons!" the man proclaimed gratefully. All around us protests and pleading began as the other prisoners attempted to win their freedom. Casting another nervous glance to Razuvious, the man dashed away from me, and towards a sludge chute that would lead outside. (How he thought he would get down was a mystery, Ebon Hold floated several hundred feet above the peak of a low mountain.)

I waited until Razuvious growled angrily at me and gestured to a Death Knight to stop the man before he reached the chute. The smile on my face turning into a look of scorn, I brandished my sword and pushed myself into a run towards the man's back. Instantly the begging for release turned into shouts of warning to the man, but it was too late. My blade met his flesh in the same way that I'd cut the sack of plagued barley just as he'd turned to face me in shock. Blood and innards spilled out of the wound I'd made, and he collapsed with the look of a man betrayed. Ghouls were upon him before I'd even sheathed my sword upon my back, consuming the man even before life had fled him.

It was jarring, one moment I looked down upon my success with pride that I'd proved Razuvious wrong, but in the next I wobbled as a wave of nausea hit me. Shoving the tip of my sword into the ground I leaned heavily upon it and covered my mouth, my stomach heaving at the sight in front of me. Tricking and killing that man had felt so right...so justified...and that was making me recoil in disgust.

This was not me...this was not...

"Initiate!" Razuvious's harsh voice broke through my horror, and I looked to him with bleary eyes. Had we been in natural light and not the unnatural, illuminated shadows of the Hold, I was certain my pale skin would be paraffin. For once, I was thankful for the poor lighting. "Initiate, you pass. Make your way to the Hall of Command. You will be briefed there." Razuvious spoke slowly, his face contorted into a dark scowl. I could not help but respect the man, at least for a moment, he had been proven wrong, and was not letting pride get the best of him. Securing my sword upon my back, I bowed stiffly to Razuvious, and walked towards the balcony that contained a portal that would lead me to the lower level. I heard Razuvious instruct the next Initiate to perform the same task as I as the light flared in the portal as I stepped into it, but this time the shackled in the arena began to wail in fright.

As the crimson light cleared, I found myself at the Hall of Command. The light was slightly brighter here, the center platform of the lower hold illuminated with a sickly yellow light that reminded me of the watery fluids that would occasionally seep from our training corpses. A library stood at the center of the hold, where the light was the brightest. Scourge scholars poured through books intently, researching what, I was not privy to know. Along the back walls of the lower hold were the instructors, who further taught a Death Knight after they'd progressed from being an initiate.

Standing near the portal, his eyes emptier than my own, was Highlord Mograine. He was dressed, as always, in armor ready for battle, but held his helmet under one arm. His hair was the unruly, spiked blonde it had always been, only somehow it seemed just a little longer. Our eyes met briefly, one set of glowing iciness observing the other, before I bowed respectfully to him. He tilted his head as he gazed at me, as if trying to remember something that he too, had forgotten. I turned away after that, seeking he or she whom would debrief me. It surely wouldn't be the Highlord I knew...he was far too important to give orders to a mere Initiate such as myself...

_"Anastasja..."_ I heard a voice that was both empty and cold, which wavered like the coming and going of the wind before a horrid storm. It said my name with an almost fond undertone, a familiarity like one who knew me in the years I could now no longer recall. Yet, my mind's eye recalled a dank place, a place that smelled like earth and stagnant water...where a different voice whispered my name in the same way.

I spun quickly, my eyes instantly upon the Highlord. Commander Thassarian had his attention now, and was speaking to him in a low, yet urgent voice. They looked as if they'd already established a conversation. Perhaps one of the many disembodied voices that would frequently whisper in the shadows of the Hold had said my name. A Death Knight could not allow themselves to be distracted by something so laughable in the future.

Slowly I made my way out on to the balcony. Suddenly I was awash in the aura of a powerful presence. It felt like the chill wind from the north, and it nearly paralyzed me with awe and fright. My eyes large, I walked slowly towards the tall figure that had, at that moment, his back turned towards me. My breath crystallized in the air as I exhaled, and I felt as if I had been transported to that snowy place far north. It was far colder to the chill that shrouded the necropolis, for it was a cold worse than that of death. I actually began to shiver.

Frightful, spiked armor decorated with skulls adorned his body. A long, tattered cape hung heavily over his shoulders, the tattered edges of which touched the ground. From beneath the painful-looking, steel helm flowed long hair that I instinctively knew had once been a rich blonde, but was now stringy and white. One hand rested upon the blade that, upon gazing at the skull adorning the hilt, I could feel it trying to tug my soul from my body. I knew that sword...I knew this man. I had known him before then, even...in a time that began the long twilight before the shadows embraced me.

I was in the presence of Arthas, former prince of Lordaeron.

I was in the presence of the Lich King.

Surely there was some mistake, for why would the Lich King be here to greet the initiates? What could we possibly be in the eyes of the mighty lord of the Scourge? My questions would go unanswered then, as the Lich King gestured toward me without looking at me, and motioned for me to stand closer.

As I approached the balcony's edge where he stood, he swept one gloved hand across the horizon line, presenting to me, for the first time since my birth into shadows, what laid below the Ebon Hold. Distantly in the heavy rust-tinted fog that always hung low over the Plaguelands, I could see farmland, and hear the far-away squeals of children as they played. We were on the edge of a town, and suddenly my heart began to race. I knew this place...

New Avalon...a town protected and patrolled by the Scarlet Crusade.

Little time did I have to digest this, as Arthas took in a soft breath that seemed to crystallize in his lungs somewhere far beneath his armor and flesh. With a voice both guttural and smooth, two voices speaking as one, the Lich King greeted me.

_"All that I am: anger, cruelty, vengeance - I bestow upon you, my chosen knight. I have granted you immortality so that you may herald in a new, dark age for the Scourge." _

My eyes stared at the side of his helmet, unable to think, unable to do anything but listen and wait for his command. Immortality...power...were those things truly mine? My eyes once again followed the gloved hand as it gestured to New Avalon.

"_Gaze now upon the lands below us. The Scarlet Crusade scurries to undo my work, while Light's Hope stands defiantly against us - a blemish upon these Plaguelands." _

Again my heart thudded. Light's Hope...Light's Hope was where...was where...

My thoughts were overshadowed as the burning hatred I'd felt for the man I'd killed in the arena returned, this time as I stared at the mist enshrouded roofs of New Avalon.

_ "They must all be shown the price of their defiance._ _You will become my force of retribution. Where you tread, doom will follow. Go now and claim your destiny, death knight."_

I bowed to my new lord and master, one fist clenched and pressed to my chest. I would serve him eagerly. I would carry out his will and I would cleanse the world of the living, paving way for the rest of the Scourge. For I was now beyond Initiate. I was truly and utterly...

A Death Knight.


	3. Chapter 3 Monster

I stood amongst rows of Death Knights, our emotionless visages staring ahead, none of us daring to look at he who commanded us. We had not been given permission to do so, only ordered by our master to follow this creature's orders. The creature...he'd once been something called a Blood Elf, but was now a vampiric being called a Darkfallen. He called himself a prince, this creature, although some of my squad openly admitted their doubt of his noble heritage. Many of the Darkfallen they'd met referred to themselves as royalty, perhaps a lingering arrogance from their lives as Elves.

He wore crimson and gold armor that was accentuated by glowing gems rumored to have origins in the other dimensional home of the Orcs; Outlands. A high, spiked collar rose up and curled around his head like clawed fingers, and a scarf-like veil hid the lower half of his face from sight. His hair was long and white-blue, and although dead, still retained an enviable fullness and length normal Scourge could only yearn to have if they were capable of emotion yet. His name was Valanar, and he stood at the front of my squad, surveying us without emotion. Finally he seemed ready to speak, and straightened his stance slightly.

"They make their stand now, outside of Death's Breach, futilely attempting to push us back in hopes of saving their horses, mines, lumber and citizens." he began, his voice flat and lifeless. Behind him was the edge of the overlook upon which they stood. Below that, was the outskirts of Havenshire, a small resource community that supplied New Avalon, I and a small group of initiates had already ravaged the mines and stolen horses that were then...improved...by Salanar the Horseman. The pretty gray mare I'd taken from Havenshire's livery was now a frightful, half-steed whose hooves burned with a cold, blue flame. A trail of frost would mark her passing as she ran; a steed that would only emerge from the shadow realm with my summons. I could almost recall that Paladins also had a charger, but it was one created from things that were pure and holy.

"This will be your first lesson in Scourge warfare: TERROR!" Prince Valanar's voice returned my attention from my not-quite thoughts of my deathcharger, and back to him. "Go to the front lines, south of here, and destroy Scarlet Crusaders. Leave their corpses so that we may utilize them for the death march." he paused dramatically, his glowing eyes surveying us for any sign of emotion, any sign that we were not completely under our master's command. Several Scarlet Crusaders had already attempted to infiltrate us by wearing the robes of an initiate taken from one they'd managed to slay, but had been unable to completely disguise themselves as one of us. Empathy toward the living still filled them, even empathy as twisted as theirs effected their stance, their very breath. That very crusader now walked amongst us, a mindless ghoul seeking acceptance and a scrap of flesh from it's masters.

"But most importantly:" Prince Valanar once again startled me, and confusion floated through my heart like mist. (Why was my mind wandering so? I wondered.) "Kill the fleeing villagers. Soldiers dying are an affordance, but villagers?" he chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing as he undoubtedly grinned beneath his mask, "That is what strikes fear into the hearts of man." My lips parted slightly as I felt a chill unlike any other, fill my heart. Kill the innocent...? But...but...why...

_Slay all who oppose us..._

I winced as the thoughts I'd just had began to slip away like snow down a mountain. Panic filled me as I felt myself caring less about the duty ahead of me. Suddenly I was afraid of losing myself...but to what?

What was I thinking? I should not care, my master has ordered me...

...but the children, the innocent who will suffer unwillingly for the Scarlet Crusade...

_Remember who owns your soul, Death Knight! Your will is not your own, all life must end!_

The panic faded, and I joined my comrades as we saluted Prince Valanar and summoned forth our steeds. My mount huffed and shifted, prancing in anticipation, even as a creature of shadow sensing that which I could no longer feel. She knew there was an important task at hand, as our master's command reached even her. She came to me already armored for battle, although a tiny part of me that seemed to observe the world around me, mused if she could even be hurt to begin with. I climbed atop her, and with my sword in one hand, directed her towards the hill that would lead me down...down into Havenshire.

For a moment I paused at the top of the hill, the rest of the initiates racing past me, their chargers hooves pounding the ground so loudly that it thrummed in my chest, mimicking a frightened heartbeat. (Or was that really my own heart pounding so fast...?) My mount shifted impatiently, eager to race with her fellows, eager to prove she was the sleekest, the fastest, the most obedient of steeds. I twisted around in the saddle created from bone and leather, and looked up towards the Ebon Hold. Poised at the balcony outside of the Hall of Command, was Highlord Mograine, staring down at us. I couldn't have been more than a speck, a blur from his distance, but it was almost as if his eyes sought me out. I could not see for certain, but it almost felt as if he were staring at..._me_. I exhaled heavily...I could almost feel a strange sensation touching my cheeks...something that I could once identify as...warmth...

_Ravage the living, minions!_

Tearing my eyes away from the Hold, I'd forgotten why I glanced up, or even what I had seen. Giving my mount a swift kick, I urged her to run. She sped eagerly down the hill and into Havenshire, excited to finally be able to compete against her peers and prove herself to our master.

Screams of horror and shouts of battle accompanied by the sound of metal clashing with metal, spells being cast and the sickening noises of death assailed my ears as we sped into Havenshire. All around me battle was already raging. Ghouls had led the attack, and were already feeding greedily on the dead. One of Salanar's Horsemen materialized from the shadows and began to whip a group of ghouls from the corpse of a young man, driving them away with each cracking lash.

Movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention, and I turned towards the road that would lead to New Avalon. A Scarlet Crusader, his long curly brown hair matted with blood already, stood over one of my comrades. Blood from battle wounds seeped into his goatee, highlighting the desperate look of survival frozen on his face. His sword was plunged deep into the chest of my comrade, a woman that had once been one of the Light-blessed Draenei. She choked and writhed, her cloven hooves scraping the ground as her hands, bloody from the effort, attempted to remove herself from his weapon. He held her fast, however, the tip of his sword very likely driven into the ground beneath her, securing her to the spot.

Spurring my deathcharger into action, I raced towards her. If I could get to her before her heart stopped, she could be saved...

I leapt from my mount as she ran by, driving the edge of my sword downward as I tried to sever the man's arms from his body. He proved to be quicker, however, and pulled the sword from the Draenei's body with shocking strength. He parried my blow, our blades clashing with a loud noise. A chip from the edge of his sword escaped as our weapons met, and embedded itself near his eye. He jerked away with a yelp, giving me time to withdraw my sword, and ready it for another attack. It almost didn't seem fair, he was already taxed from fighting my comrade, and now his vision was obscured by this new wound...

_End it's miserable life..._

The beginnings of a dark smile touched my lips as I pushed towards the man. My blade smoothly cut past his arms, and seemed to guide itself through his stomach. The end of the blade punctured through his back, my sword easily cutting his bones-his ribs, his vertebrate-as if it were nothing more than warm butter. He choked out a breath of dismay, the final noise he would ever utter, and crumpled to the ground as I withdrew my weapon. His blood spread across his crimson and white tabard...the tabard bearing the bastardized insignia of Lordaeron...the symbol of the Scarlet Crusade.

Pleasure filled me...die Scarlet Crusade bastard! DIE!

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cackle like a madwoman.

_Where is your light now, Crusaders?_

"My thanks to you, comrade." the Draenei said, her voice hollow and stale like those around me. A strange effect of becoming a Death Knight seemed to overtake most, and they spoke with voices that echoed, reverberated as if the loss of life had left them hollow inside. My voice, and the voice of the three that dined with me separate from the others, had not taken on that tone...although one seemed as if he were developing it.

"You are welcome, comrade. But I will not ignore your weakness a second time." I responded, my words coming from my mouth, but not feeling like my own. The Draenei, her skin a pallid lavender, nodded once. Despite what she'd been through, her initiate's hood still hid much of her face, as mine did. She sat up with one hand pressed to her chest, her blood, thick and clotting, oozing from around her hand. I tilted my head as she crawled towards the dead Scarlet Crusader, her breath coming forth in heavy spasms as she leaned over him. "Will you recover?" I asked, my voice carrying a strange tone I felt I hadn't heard in hundreds of years.

The Draenei looked up towards me, and I could feel her eyes narrow. Concern was not something any Death Knight should even be able to feign...it was suspicious to hear it, even when expressed unconsciously. Dismissing it, as I dismissed her weakness, the Draenei returned her sight to the man in front of her. She placed one hand upon his mangled chest, and spoke words that almost sounded...demonic.

The man's body suddenly twitched. I took several steps backwards as the Draenei continued to mutter, seemingly oblivious to the seizing of the man's corpse. I bumped into my steed as the corpse began to gurgle, cooling blood welling in the mouth that froze open in the shock of death. It spilled over like a fountain, as the man sat up. The Draenei withdrew her hand as the man, nay, the ghoul, regained control of it's twitching, and looked around itself curiously. I could only stare in fascination...creating a ghoul was not something many initiates had learned yet, and I had not yet seen it happen. My deathcharger, returning from where she'd run after I leapt from her back, nudged me from behind as I continued to step away. She nickered and nudged me with her nose as I glanced at her, reminding me that there was work to yet be done.

"Orders, mistress?" the ghoul of the Crusader slurred, twitching occasionally as unseeing eyes stared at the Draenei. I climbed into the saddle of my steed, still fascinated by the Draenei and her new ghoul.

"I am wounded...heal me." the Draenei said in an accented voice that, had she been a living woman, would have sounded seductive and enticing. To my shock, the ghoul obediently reached, with his hands, into the wound I'd made through his chest, and...well...made parts of himself accessible to his mistress. Feeling the shockingly sour taste of bile rising in my throat, I directed my deathcharger away as the Draenei began to..._heal_...herself.

I returned to my task after that, any discomfort I may have felt watching the Draenei melting away as I cut down more of the Scarlet Crusade. I shivered in delight every time the hot blood spilled, Yes...this is what I was meant to do...this was my true calling in life...

_Show it the meaning of terror..._

For all of those you damned bastards would murder...for all of the innocents you tortured in the name of 'interrogation'...DIE!

I knew my face betrayed my ecstasy, but I did not care. I danced amongst the Scarlet Crusade as they feebly tried to defend themselves against _MY_ power. I cut them down, my velvet laughter the last thing they heard besides their own screams. I whirled, light on my toes, almost a maiden twirling through a garden of death, my partner the long blade I held in my hands.

"Mercy please! I have children waiting for me in Hearthglen! I only came here to work to avoid the interrogations!" a voice cried to me. I nearly stumbled to a stop, my eyes widening as I realized my blade rested against the neck of an emaciated-looking man. He was haggard, and had pressed himself against the side of a shack I hadn't even realized I'd come near. My head tilted as I regarded him curiously. The only other cries I'd heard until then had been declarations of of their vows to wipe out the Scourge from the Scarlet Crusade...no one had begged me for life before...

"You are not of the Scarlet Crusade?" I asked, confusion filling me. That was all who was here, wasn't it? Just the evil Scarlet Crusade...?

The man shook his head rapidly, his knees visibly knocking together. "My family was poor...starving in the Plaguelands...the Scarlet Crusade found us one night and proclaimed us citizens of Hearthglen! To keep my wife and children from their interrogations I have to do what they say, I swear I want no part in this war between you miss...please!" His voice was high-pitched, hysterical. He sobbed once, his mouth quivering. "Please! I'll leave here, I'll leave Hearthglen even...I won't oppose what you're trying to do...just please spare me!"

I took a step away from him, horror filling me. Hearthglen...I knew that city. I knew the horror held within for those who did not willfully give up their rights to the Scarlet Crusade. This man...he was not a part of this war. He was only trying to survive...

_Kill or be killed..._

"No..." I said out loud, for the first time since my birth into the shadows. "No, I won't...not an innocent..." Confusion was slowly replacing the man's terror, and he watched me warily as I backed away from him. I pressed one hand against my head, a strange feeling welling inside of me.

_Do you think it would hesitate to kill you? A monster like you?_

"I will not forsake this part of the Light! Innocents must not die!" I exclaimed. In one jarring moment I remembered...I remembered everything. Surviving the culling...Hearthglen, the Scarlet Crusade...the Argent Dawn...Darion. Pain instantly gripped me, and I cried out.

_"There is no Light, only Darkness."_ the Lich King's voice said in my mind. I whimpered and shook my head, denying his words. Despite my struggle, somehow I knew it would be futile. I could already feel the chill grip of his will enveloping my heart.

"Miss?" the man asked, his fear all but faded. This man...he was a good man. Despite the blood of many decorating me and my sword, he was still showing genuine concern for me.

_"The Light has abandoned you."_ my master's voice said harshly. Reality was swiftly fading away for me, and I lowered my hands from where they'd been pressed against my head. Certainty replaced the uncertain, and I raised drowsy eyes to the man, who still gazed at me in concern. What had I been thinking of again? How silly of me...I must've gotten too caught up in the pleasure of death...I'd nearly lost track of what I was supposed to be doing.

"Mercy is for the weak." I said together with my master. A sinister smile spread on my face as the man recoiled in shock. Before he could move, before he could register the change I'd gone through, my blade pierced his body and broke him.

Eagerly I turned towards the rest of the town as he fell, my eyes landing on a pretty brown-haired woman as she tried to race for the safety of New Avalon. I raced after her and swiftly overcame her. She too, soon fell, a pool of crimson spreading around her.

_No Mercy!_

It did not matter what life my blade snuffed out now...the young, the old...all would serve the Scourge. All would bow to a new king!

_Kill them all!_


	4. Chapter 4 Mission

"Always hated mines..." a rough voice proclaimed softly. I said nothing to him in return, my eyes fixated upon that which laid ahead. It had been almost a month since that day we launched a direct attack upon Havenshire, and now I found myself paired with two comrades; the Draenei woman that I had rescued, and a human man with a silver-blue beard visible from underneath his hood. We crouched behind a pile of sandbags left by the Scarlet Crusade during one of their feeble attempts to attack Death's Breach. Our eyes were upon the mine shaft that sat just at the bottom of the hill leading from our own base. It was foolish of the Scarlet Crusade, but they stubbornly refused to cease activity within it. Even after losing Havenshire their need for minerals was far more important than the lives they supposedly protected from us.

"They lost Havenshire, yet their greed keeps them coming back." the Draenei woman who, before the mission, introduced herself only as 'Ire', chuckled. She voiced my thoughts perfectly, something that she seemed to do frequently, which I found mildly irritating.

"The need for weapons and fuel will always outweigh the lives of the mediocre. Which is, in this case, anyone not bearing a weapon in the name of the Scarlet Crusade." the man, who now went by the nickname 'Kharkis', stated. I had not introduced myself to either of these as anything but my real name. I did not find the need for such a secret. It was very likely that I could meet my end at any moment, either by the Scarlet Crusade, or my own master's will. I...I wanted s_omeone_ to remember who I had been...

"The way is clear, let us go!" I said in a soft voice. Kharkis and Ire moved with me as we ran, our bodies bent to a stealthy crouch, towards a pair of ore carts parked outside of the mines. We had abandoned our swords for this mission, relying instead on the cover of evening, stealth, and luck.

While the ore carts looked innocent enough from even an analytical gaze, located in the side was a nearly invisible hatch door just wide enough for a human the size of Kharkis to slip through. Into these carts myself and my comrades would secret ourselves, an almost laughable disguise to infiltrate Light's Point-the Scarlet Crusade's marina. A shelf of ore disguised the hidden compartment below, most Scarlet Crusade peons too afraid of their employers to do anything but swiftly deliver each cart of ore.

There had been other attempts to reach the ships below, but the Scarlet Crusade had become wiser after losing Havenshire. The path down to the ships were reinforced with some of their stronger members, each alert and ready for an attack. We'd even witnessed them attacking their own out of paranoia while waiting for our imminent arrival.

"Hurry, we haven't much time before someone arrives!" I hissed, climbing into one of the carts. Ire quickly took the other, her seven-foot tall body taking up much of the space within. If I had still been as I was before, when I was not in my master's service, I would've squeaked in startlement at what I found within my cart. A Blood Elf male, his blue eyes glowing in the darkness of the cart, tilted his head curiously at my intrusion. We stared at each other for a moment, and then he grinned slyly.

"Anastasja, move over, I cannot get into Ire's cart!" Kharkis whispered from the hatch door. The Blood Elf reached over me, his face emerging from the gloom, and flashed Kharkis a pompous grin.

"Sorry old man, cart's full. Better luck next time." he said, reaching out and pulling the hatch shut. I could hear Kharkis on the other side stuttering incomprehensibly, too stunned to properly form a retort. He cursed a moment later, which was followed by the muted sounds of his retreat away from the cart.

"Well now, I didn't expect an attractive companion on this trip." the Blood Elf said with a toothy grin. The unnatural light from his eyes illuminated his teeth, making their whiteness dimly glow in the darkness. My own orbs were large as I stared at him, and I could not find a voice to respond to him. The way he had shifted to close the hatch left us in, what I would embarrassingly recall later, a compromising position. His cheeks would have rested upon my breasts if he had not been holding himself upright, and his hips pressed into one of my thighs.

And shockingly, despite the void of all other emotions, I somehow was able to blush furiously.

The Blood Elf, of what I could see of him when the hatch was open, and what I could make out dimly in the light cast by his eyes, was a younger sort. He sported a chiseled jaw, and I had seen haphazardly cut, rich mahogany-colored hair that just barely touched his shoulders. His nose was straight, and he had softly squared eyes. He was of a slighter build than Kharkis, or even Highlord Mograine, but that was to be expected of an Elf. I blinked twice, the strange heat in my face lessening slightly, as I suddenly recalled where I'd seen this smirking face before. He was one of the three that would take meals with me separately from the rest, one of the others that lacked the hollow voice shared by our comrades.

"You were not assigned to this mission, Prince Valanar sent the Blood Elves to distract the crusade at the gates of New Avalon." I said woodenly, staring hard into his eyes. I recalled his name now, Noll it was. He was an oddity amongst the initiates, he retained a humor and light-heartedness that the rest of us seemed to have lost or forgotten.

Noll shrugged, the action accompanied with an aloof roll of his eyes. "I didn't want to go, sounded boring." he stated, matter-of-fact. The grin returned to his face, more wicked than before. "Besides, I wouldn't have been able to find myself in the company of a curvy and busty initiate if I had gone over there." he stated bluntly, the foreign sound of mischievousness thick in his voice. Again, my face grew hot.

"I...I am not busty!" I managed to exclaim with difficulty. Horror and embarrassment was welling within me, warring with the mindless control my master had placed over me. Pointedly, Noll looked down at my chest, which was covered in a mediocre breastplate that was more scraps of metal adhered to a leather vest than anything.

"No...no I'd have to disagree." he said, lifting an eyebrow as he inspected me. "I can appreciate the curvature of Human females..." he said, his eyes drifting lower. I began to struggle then, trying in vain to get myself into a more protective position. How dare this man embarrass me! How arrogant could he be to think I would just sit here and...

And...? And what? Not for the first time, I felt I was on the verge of coming out of someplace dark. The exit still eluded me, although it felt closer than before.

"Stop struggling, you're rocking the cart!" Noll hissed, bracing one hand against the wall of our hiding place. I stilled as footsteps approached us, all but holding my breath in fear that we'd been discovered.

"Uh oh!" we heard a voice exclaim. "This is the third time today someones forgotten the ore! Now there's TWO carts!" Noll and I exchanged glances; third time today? Had Prince Valanar sent others down to Light's Point already? I heard the man that exclaimed calling for help to pull the pair of carts down to the boat that would carry the ore to Northrend. There was a moment of stretched silence, and then suddenly the cart jerked as someone began to pull it.

Noll and I were silent as we were pulled downhill, our eyes trained on the walls of the cart as we listened to the conversation between the miner and his friend. They talked about nothing important, a simple conversation of their families, and what they expected for dinner that night. My throat unexpectedly tightened as I listened to them, they did not know that this would likely be their last night with their families. While most of me eagerly anticipated the fight to come, a portion of myself wanted to grieve for what had not yet happened. It was a curious conflict of emotions, and I was almost thankful for Noll's distraction.

"I should like to see you clearer, without your hood on." he suddenly whispered, his voice filled, once again, with mischievousness. "I'll bet you're very pretty, judging by the chin and lips that I can see." I could feel him grinning once more. I glared at him in response, my jaw clenched and my eyebrows pulled low over my eyes.

We were jostled as the cart was pulled onto, what felt like, a loading ramp. My body shifted with gravity, and I winced as I was pressed into the back of the cart. Noll's weight bore down heavier on me, and my neck was bent precariously to the side. I moved one hand to support myself and to attempt and relieve the press of my spiked pauldrons into my skin, and ended up bumping Noll in the nose. He sucked in a breath and tried very hard not to make a noise of pain. It would've been my turn to smirk in satisfaction, if I had not been so uncomforatable.

The angle straightened abruptly, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The cart came to a stop a moment later, and both Noll and I held our breath as we listened. The miner and his friend congratulated each other on getting the carts to the boat in time, both happy that they would not be reprimanded that day. We waited moments after we could no longer hear them, to be certain that there were no others near the cart.

"Get off of me!" I snapped, finally hearing Ire's hatch open. I struggled to get free of Noll, and ended up sliding ungracefully out of the cart. I landed at Ire's feet, and glanced up into her dark violet face to find her lifting an eyebrow at my display. I scrambled to my feet as Noll emerged from the cart, earning me another look from Ire.

"I was not aware Humans were capable of transformation." she said flatly, sizing up Noll.

"He was in the cart when I entered; Kharkis could not fit." I responded without emotion. Noll paused to size up the Draenei in return, and I could sense racial hostilities from a time long past floating between the two. They would not act upon them, however...none of the Death Knights would. Our master willed for us to only focus on his greater goal, and that is what we would do.

I glanced around the boat we were upon, taking in it's design, it's cargo. It was fairly new, the paint and stain coloring the lumber of it's creation barely salt-touched. All around us were piled boxes containing ore, armor and supplies that would be delivered to, what our intel suggested, Northrend. Our goal here today, was to stop them from even leaving.

"There are the cannons. We should move swiftly." Ire declared, All along the side of the ship were large cannons. They were a design not seen before, that would reload gunpowder and ammunition automatically. It reeked of the clockwork design of Gnomes and Goblins, even though the Scarlet Crusade would never be anything more than a group of paranoid Humans. Despite what they claimed, it appeared that in times of desperation, even they secretly turned to the other races of Azeroth. Our mission was to use the cannons against the Scarlet Crusade, to blow up their stocks of weapons, armor and ammo, as well as take out as many as we could in the process.

I wandered to the edge of the ship as Ire and Noll began inspecting cannons to figure out how they operated. My lips parted slightly as my eyes gazed upon that which gathered on the beach. Row after row after row of the Scarlet Crusade's finest stood in perfect lines, listening to their commander as he shouted to them the state of New Avalon. Every face was battle-hardened and fresh from plenty of rest. Their stances and wide shoulders spoke to me that they were well-trained, and knew how to fight. Faintly I could hear their commander detailing their plan of attack upon Ebon Hold. We had to be swift, there were more than enough Scarlet Crusaders here to meet our forces and easily overtake them!

Noll whistled in awe at the gathered throng as I jumped at the last available cannon. I pressed my lips together into a thin line, my heart pounding as I tried to figure out how to make the weapon work. I could not fail my master...I would not! I would not let the Scarlet Crusade win, ever!

"Hey..." Noll called to no one in particular. I cast him a swift glance as I fumbled with the levers and knobs on the cannon, but did not answer. His eyes were large and raised above us, towards the ships' mast. "Hey...were you guys the only ones truly assigned to this mission?" I pressed my lips together and found a lever that began the clockwork that would automatically reload the cannonballs after they were fired. So close now...soon I would succeed in disrupting their assembly, just as ordered.

"We were given this honor due to our kill count during the first invasion, yes." Ire responded. She had already prepared her cannon, and now leaned against it patiently, one cloven hoof crossed gracefully over the other and her arms folded. It would be fruitless for her to begin the assault before Noll and I were ready; I thanked her for having that much sensibility. I glanced at Noll again, growing irritated as I found him still staring above us.

"You sure?" he asked, his voice holding genuine curiosity. Ire affirmed her previous statement once more, and Noll lifted an eyebrow in what I could only assume was a skeptical expression. "Then who are they?" he pointed with one hand, stretching his arm above his head and toward the mast. Both Ire and I craned our necks and glanced up at the mast, I pushing my hood from my face slightly so I could see that above myself better.

_"This is the third time today someones forgotten the ore!"_

The memory rang through my ears as if it'd been spoken at that moment. Stretched above us, decorating the mast in a gristly mobile of triumph, were the hung, beaten, somewhat dismembered bodies of ten initiates. I did not recognize them save the last three which, judging by the state of decomposition compared to the rest, had to have been strung up _very _recently.

"I don't know all of them..." I said in mild panic. It dawned on me in that moment that others had been sent to do our job before...many times before...and none had succeeded.

"We must recover from their failure and succeed where they did not." Ire stated, placing a heavy and upon my shoulder. I looked at her for a moment, my hood obscuring half of my face. Her eyes held nothing, no sympathy, no fear. She was the perfect tool of the master, something that I was beginning to doubt I could ever be. I seemed to have a weakness that began on the inside, and I was not certain why that was, now.

"You are right. Let us begin." As I turned to face the cannon again, the ring of metal froze me in my tracks. My eyes widened as the world seemed to go in slow motion after that. I barely dodged the blade that was thrust at me, it's target had been my heart from behind. The man who held it was of the Scarlet Crusade, but was so wild-eyed and dirty that he could've passed for any type of barbaric pirate. Rotted teeth showed in his grin as he swung his sword at me again, spittle decorating his tangled, black and grey beard as he wheezed in anticipation. My hand ached for my sword, or anything that would allow me to win against this foe. I had but one skill that I had learned that I could use against this man without the aid of my weapon, but it would be useless in felling him.

The man, much taller and muscular than myself, kicked out at me with all of his strength. His booted foot landed square in my chest, and I went flying. I slammed into the fife rail mid-deck, my spine cracking painfully against the wood. If it had not been for the meager breastplate I wore protecting me, my back would have certainly been broken in that one instant. The man ran at me with his sword raised, his eyes wild with glee at what seemed to be another easy victory for him, another trophy to string across the mast above.

His eyes widened in shock as a hand made of black and purple lightning, plucked him from where he stood, and dragged him backwards. He'd just barely turned when Noll expertly punched him twice in the face. The man had a moment to stumble, stunned as his rotted teeth crumbled in his mouth, before Noll kicked him high, his foot connecting with the man's jaw and crushing the rest of his teeth. He was flung backwards, and landed hard on his back several feet away from Noll. He'd dropped his sword as he fell, which Noll claimed quickly. Before the man had time to get his bearings, Noll pounced upon him, driving his sword deep into the soft spot at the base of his neck. I looked away before my mind could sear the image of the man's face in death throes, into my memory.

"Hurry!" Noll hissed, pushing the sword down hard. I heard a crack, but if it were the sword meeting the boat or something else, I was not certain. I joined Ire at the cannons (who seemed to have been enjoying the sight of my fighting for my life), and the two of us took control of a pair. My face intense, I swiveled the cannon around until it was aimed towards a large group of Scarlet Crusade soldiers. Without hesitation, I pulled the lever, the cannon's sound deafening as it fired. The Scarlet Crusaders looked towards the boat just as the round missile flew at them, and could only watch as it landed between them.

Soldiers flew everywhere, dust and gore scattering across the sand.

Ire fired hers moments after mine, adding to the destruction I'd already begun. Some Crusaders fled in shock at the sudden attack, while others, directed by their mounted captain, began making a futile attempt to overtake the boat and stop us. Noll joined us as the first group scrambled up the ramp to the boat, and slammed a fist into a large button on the side of his cannon. It released a charge of electricity that paralyzed the closest, sending them to the water below the ship where they would likely drown should the paralysis not wear off in time.

Again and again the three of us fired upon the Crusade, none able to escape, none able to stop us. Once again pleasure coursed through me, and I shivered. Our master knew of our attack now, and was pleased. Again and again my eyes drank in the sight of the tattered insignias of the Scarlet Crusade, each scream and shout of horror and dismay. Only when some managed to escape to a nearby ship and turn the cannons upon it towards us did Ire shout for my attention. With difficulty I abandoned my new friend, and joined her near the center mast. We summoned forth three skeletal Griffins, which flew in from high above, as if they'd been circling, waiting for our call. We leapt atop them and the undead beasts skirted us away from the ship just as the first cannons hit.

Ire laughed aloud as the boat below crumpled with the blows. "The fools destroy themselves!" she crowed, laughing again. I leaned slightly to my left as the Griffin beat it's bone wings, and surveyed the destruction we had wrought. Huge craters scarred the beach, and even from the height we were I could see the pieces of what used to be humans dotting the sand.

Somewhere, deep in my heart, a girl began to cry.

A loud boom shook us, and Noll cried out as a cannonball narrowly missed hitting his Griffin. "I think they noticed us!" he shouted as another cannonball was fired. I winced as it flew over my head, too close for comfort. The ball landed somewhere in the cliff side above Light's Point, shaking the land. It would've been too much to hope that our own would be alerted to our plight and guide us to safety but, that was not the way of our master. We had to free ourselves to prove our worth. Perhaps one day we would be worth retrieving...

Again another cannonball flew at us, but I, distracted by my dark thoughts, failed to notice it's proximity. Noll shouted as my Griffin was hit, the missile separating the Griffin's spine just behind where I sat. I clung onto the skeletal beast for dear life as it spiraled out of control, the creature crying out hoarsely in shock (for I do not think it could feel pain any longer). The world twisted about me in a myriad of shapes and dull colors as we tumbled. I did not know what direction we were going, nor did I know how far the ground was. I held on for dear life, my eyes pressed shut after opening them once, briefly. I think I may have prayed then, even though there was nothing that I could pray to, that would hear me.

My Griffin and I crashed through a weakly-made thatch roof, and I landed hard upon something surprisingly giving. I was stunned for a moment from the impact, my head swirling from dizziness and impact. Faintly I could hear my Griffin making pitiful noises, the unholy magic that reanimated it fading. I moaned and lifted a hand to my head, which had begun to pound. Wetness met my fingers, and vaguely I assessed that I had become wounded in my fall.

Ignoring my Griffin as it met true death, I rolled onto my side, and struggled to push myself to my knees. I groaned again as my stomach heaved, and fought back the urge to vomit. So strange how normal human maladies still seemed to strike me at the oddest of moments. Such an embarrassment it would be if others were to know...

A gasp drew my attention, but I could not find it in myself to care much. I wobbled as I held myself up, my vision blurring. I winced and squinted as I lifted my head to face the sound, the world around me distorted and shifting as if it were on the ocean. I blinked hard, seeing a light-filled doorway, and a vaguely female shape filling it. It was too much for me to consider. Finally giving up the fight for consciousness I collapsed, my body crumpling into a limb-twisted heap.

But before I'd completely receded into the darkness of my mind, I heard a tear-stricken voice murmur in shock; "Anastasja...what have you _become_?"


	5. Chapter 5 Remember

"Anastasja! Come along now, don't stray far!"

I jumped up from where I had been crouched, watching as two small beetles fought. One had been deformed, almost dead in appearance, while the other was healthy, with a shining carapace that gleamed like a new coin. It had been this shining one that had caught my attention in the first place, and I could not help to stop at the side of the road and watch their battle. The healthy one had overcome the sickly, and had turned the creature onto it's back. Before my curious, innocent eyes the healthy beetle began to eat the sickly, the latter's legs waving about helplessly.

"Anastasja, come along now, our kind escort is getting impatient!" Einat's voice startled me, and I looked up to her.

_….feet dangling helplessly...the rope tight around the neck that proved as frail as a dry twig..._

"That pretty beetle is killing the sick one!" I said in childish fear. It was true, my small body trembled with worry for the ugly, dull beetle, but at the same time I was too afraid of the gigantic mandibles both insects had to try and help. I knew all too well from past attempts at goodwill towards smaller creatures that I would be turned upon in fear. Sickly, mangy cats and rabbits had bitten and scratched me, some leaving my body wracked with pain and illness that I dared not present my unprotected body anywhere near anything that could harm me afterward.

Einat stood tall, and shook her head at me, a small smile playing upon her lips. "It is how nature plays its will out, in these healthier lands, Anastasja. If you are clever and strong, you will survive, even if at first you look frail and weak in comparison." she bent down until she was level with my head, and pointed back to the beetles. Tears swimming in my large, blue eyes, I hesitantly glanced back at the insect duel.

My mouth dropped open slightly as, in the short time I'd turned away from the battle, the sickly insect had righted itself, and had pounced the healthy. One half of the healthy beetle's carapace had been torn off, and the giant mandibles of the sickly were clamped tightly around the beetle's unprotected body. The healthy was trying in vain to run away from the sickly, but it's movements were strained, as life was fleeing it faster than it could keep up.

"Now the sickly shall become strong. Let us hope that he does not see fit to bully the weaker as was done to him, hmm?" Einat said in a light voice, ruffling my hair.

"Woman! Bring your child and hurry! I must return to Hearthglen!" our escort, a surly Scarlet Crusade Initiate, snapped. He stood impatiently next to a Gryphon that was decorated in the crimson and white colors of the Crusade, it's own eagle-like face sour like it's rider. Around him, in the heavy mist that shrouded us, I could barely make out the landscape of the Hinterlands. That's right...we were visiting Einat's sister, Aferdita. She was part of the Scarlet Crusade, but had been living in the Hinterlands due to an illness she'd contracted...

_"Help me carry her, she's wounded! Hurry before we're seen!"_

"Einat, what are you thinking taking in that child? She is an ill omen for us all...the horrors she was exposed to...it could infect us yet!" Aferdita said a harsh, but low voice. She sat in a wicker chair across from Einat, who sipped calmly from her teacup.

"You fear unreasonably, she is a pitiful child who needed a family. She did witness much horror, but it did not touch her like you believe." Einat replied, her eyes shut as she kept her composure. Aferdita slammed her teacup into the matching saucer so hard that tea sloshed all over her lap.

"She breathed the plague-tainted air of Stratholme, she could already be one of them! Gain some sense, sister, and turn her in! It wasn't right of Maxwell to get you involved in he and that Mograine's crazy plans, noble or not! It's better to survive, get Maxwell to settle down finally and start over with REAL children of your own!" Aferdita hissed.

Outside of the living room where Aferdita and Einat spoke, I curled into a tiny ball, my head in my arms and my arms upon my drawn-up knees. I may have been young, but my mind was already at that cusp of pre-teen awareness. I was not so ignorant to not know exactly what their conversation was about.

Fear bubbled up within me as I did not hear Einat respond to Aferdita's demand. I began to worry that she would be considering reminding the Crusade of me. My mind reeled as it recalled the night spent in Vishas' tent, a night I'd almost, blessedly forgotten. Whimpering softly, tears stinging my eyes, I hurriedly jumped to my feet and ran away from the room as fast as I could.

_"Your body is artistic perfection my dear...so do not worry...these scars will fade by the day's end. I would not dare permanently maw the canvas that will display my masterpiece until I have perfected my design..." Vishas held the hot poker close to my body as he spoke, poised with it like an artist holds a brush to a canvas._

I opened my eyes with a groan, my vision blurry. My head throbbed with my pulse, and my ears rang. A sun-tanned face loomed in the center of my vision, the chestnut hair that fell softly around her face reminding me of someone, yet my mind stubbornly refused to recall it for me. A white cloth was dabbed to my forehead, and I winced and moaned as the pressure increased my headache.

"Shh...Anastasja. You're ok now..." the woman whispered. "We'll get you out of here.. You'll be back home soon..."

There was a thunder of footsteps, which thrummed in time with the pounding of my head. I cried out at the pain of the noise, and rolled away from the woman's cloth. Blurrily, I saw the woman rise, her face awash with panic.

"Aferdita, hurry! We have to get out of here, the Crusaders are calling for an evacuation to the town hall. Those damned scourge-touched are killing everyone in sight, and here you are harboring one of them like your own lost child!" a man's voice snapped.

Aferdita...? Auntie...Aferdita...?

Auntie...? Where was I? How did I get here? Can I go home now...?

"It's not a scourge-touched, it's Anastasja, and I won't leave her!" the woman defiantly protested.

"She's wearing their armor, bearing their weapons, she's not as you remember...we need to..."

The man's voice faded into a muted, muffled noise as the ringing in my ears drowned everything else out. Slowly, like a black shroud falling over the face of a mourner, my vision faded, returning me into the security and serenity of my mind.

I ran away as fast my legs would carry me, away from Aferdita's house, away from the accusing voices and the danger of Vishas. The Hinterlands was a dangerous place for a child, but I did not fear angry Wildkin or hungry wolves more than I feared being returned to that snake-faced man they called Interrogator.

I ran for how long, I do not know. I tried not to cry as I ran, but failed. My breath came in horrible, throat-tearing gasps as I tried to sob and run at the same time. Why couldn't things be ok? Was I that much of a mistake upon the world that I made everyone unhappy around me just by being? Would I never be able to escape the shadow of Stratholme and come to a place where people would love me?

_"The Light so loved you child, that it kept you safe from the horrors of Stratholme. You are a marvel...a wonder. It is my greatest honor, this humble Priest of the Light...to be in your presence. Thank you for honoring me with your kindness..." the large Draenei Anchorite bowed deeply to me, his voice sincere and genuine._

"A child." a man with a smooth, deep voice stated, more than asked. I looked up from where I'd curled against the roots of a large tree to find a fair-skinned Elven couple staring down at me. Their eyes shone a pleasant light blue hue. They were High Elves, part of a small settlement that lived in the Hinterlands, but being the child that I was, had never seen their race before. Dwarves I had, as Dwarves were frequent visitors to Stratholme, and Dwarves populated the community of Aerie Peak. I was entranced by the Elves, and all I could do was stare as the woman, her hair a rich, dark brown and her body thin and lithe, knelt before me.

"Are you lost little Human? You are far from any human homes." the woman said, her voice sultry yet melodic. Before I could find my voice to respond to her, as I was struck dumb yet, both the man and woman's attention was drawn away from me. Gracefully, the man, who carried a bow, pulled an arrow from the quiver upon his back and fired it to the left of the tree. There was howl as a wolf's body was pierced, and I heard the soft thud as it's body hit the lush grass. It was much closer than I had expected, and I began to tremble in new fright. If this Elven pair had not been here...

"Come, we shall take her to Quel'danil Lodge until the evening trader passes through. He will take her to Aerie Peak." the man suddenly decided, shouldering his bow. The woman nodded her agreement, and with shocking strength that did not seem to befit her thin frame, lifted me from the ground.

The shadows climbed the walls as I sat against one in a room within the Lodge. There was buzzing conversation all about me, some Elves stopping curiously to stare at me, but none taking much interest in me beyond that. The sun sank over the tree-lined horizon swifter than I knew possible, the world around me suddenly moving at a speed that I knew could not be natural, but yet I did not know how to slow it down.

Suddenly it stopped, the sky nearly the dark blue of night, the sun still painting the sky above the horizon a pale orange. Oil torches had flickered to life above me...or had someone come to light them? Either way, I now sat in the flickering orange lamplight, shadows closing in around me, my eyes trained on the tree-tops across the lake I faced.

I was not alone. A boy, a pre-teen by his appearance, sat next to me, staring intently at my face. I had glanced at him once, and found his appearance unnerving. Where the High Elves had been pleasant to behold, their skin fair yet colored with the gentle hues of peach and tan that I was accustomed to with hair in shades I found familiar, this boy was alien to me. His eyes were silver, and strangely his irises lacked pupils. His entire eye seemed to glow faintly in the dark, and I curled into myself to hide from it. His skin wasn't quite a dull pink or pale lavender, I could not choose between the hues as it seemed to be both at the same time. As he shifted in the lamplight to regard me curiously his flesh almost seemed a silvery blue in the places where the shadows would touch him.

Most disturbing for my childish mind was his hair. It was cut short in a familiar style, but it was a bright and gleaming silver, similar to his eyes. He was a Night Elf, I know now, but then he frightened me. He sat near me for a long time, in a similar pose as I, his arms draped over his drawn-up knees.

I blinked and lifted my head as he held a hand out to me. Presented in between two of his fingers, was a single leaf. It was large, large as a dinner plate, larger than any leaf I'd ever seen before. A strange aura emanated from it, one that was not unpleasant, but made me feel light-headed and sleepy at the same time. Slowly I gained the courage to look at him again, one hand reaching out to take the leaf from him as my eyes gazed back to his strange face. He smiled as I accepted the leaf, a smile that I felt my self mirroring, albeit faintly. He was not as scary when he smiled...

"It's a leaf from the great tree at Seradane. Humans don't have treasures like that, so take care of it." he said, his voice boyish but rough, as if it were on the verge of changing. I felt a slight blush color my cheeks as he gently took the leaf he'd just given me, and placed it with careful fingers, behind my ear.

_"Ana...I don't care what people will say...be with me..." his voice was hushed in the darkness of the cave, muted, and breathless._

I jumped as a voice called my name, yet I heard no voice at all. My face brightened with a happy smile, and I jumped to my feet as Darion entered the lodge. The leaf fell from behind my ear as I moved, forgotten about in my happiness at Darion's arrival. I did not see, then, the bitter frown that suddenly pulled the Night Elf boy's face down when I latched onto Darion in a happy hug. I did not notice him get up, and dissappear into the shadows of the Lodge, casting me one last glance before I was out of sight. Darion had come to find me, and that was all that mattered at that moment. I was safe from Vishas now that Darion was here. I could return to Einat, and not be worried.

The present returned to me in a rush, startling me back to waking, making me inhale loudly with a shocked gasp as I rocketed upright to a sitting position. Pain shot through my head once I was up, and I groaned and doubled over to touch my forehead to my blanket-covered knees.

Blanket?

The pain began to fade as I looked around myself. I still wore my armor, but my hood had been removed and folded neatly on a small, circular table next to the bed I found I had been laying upon. The interior of the room was cozy, warm, much different from the cold, oftentimes slimy stone of the room I'd been given in the Ebon Hold. Instead of the odor of decay, this room smelled faintly of cinnamon, and instead of slime and disease puddling in cracks and low places, a vase of slightly wilted flowers was this room's only decoration. I would want to say it was comforting, but my master's will was returning, reminding me that I had been gone for a very, very long time. I had to get out of there, and hope that I would not be executed for falling into the enemy's hands.

Carefully I stood, my bare feet making no noise as I placed them upon the wooden floor. It creaked slightly with my weight, and I tensed, my ears straining for movement outside of the room. I was deep in enemy territory, and my heart pounded in my ears in fear. How long had I been prisoner of these Scarlet Crusade bastards? Had they managed to torture any information from me? I could not remember, and I feared that they had.

I located my greaves and blade fairly quickly; they'd been placed inside of a wardrobe. Several neatly pressed Scarlet Crusade tabards hung on the hangars within, and I scowled hatefully at them, my stomach turning. To think I'd been touched by such filth...I would find them and kill them in my master's name!

As I moved away from the wardrobe, I halted, my eyes having barely caught sight of something tucked away deep in the wardrobe-a small box. My brow pulling together slightly, for a reason I could not identify, I pushed aside the disgusting tabards with the hilt of my sword, and reached for the box. Leaning my sword against the wardrobe, I walked slowly across the room, carrying the box as a child carries a kitten, inspecting it. The bed creaked as I sat down upon it, once again announcing my wakeful state to whomever could be in the house, but for the moment, I cared not.

The box was an old snuff box and the smell of tobacco old, but oddly comforting, met my senses. I opened it up carefully, the box sliding out of the protective cover with the faintest of noises. Inside were several small trinkets; a ring, a few dried clover flowers, several coins. There were three things that stood out the most to me, and caused a heavy feeling to settle in my chest- two locks of hair: one brown, one black, and a small, hand-made toy that had been sloppily assembled by what could be no other but a child's hand. It appeared as if the toy was supposed to be a dog, but one ear was much too long and the other stuck up like a rabbit's. I dropped the box as a sharp pain hit me right behind my eye, like I'd been stabbed there, and I sucked in a hissing breath.

"I'm sorry I threw your dumb toy into the lake. I tried to re-make it for you but I couldn't remember what it looked like..." the Night Elven boy said in a sullen voice, shoving the hand-sized toy into my palm. He frowned at me fiercely as I stared at it in shock, his expression turning to panic as large tears began to drop down my cheeks. "I...I'm sorry! I'm really sorry!" he cried, holding his hands out as if to stop the flood of water coming from my face.

"Thank...you..." I hiccuped gratefully, and then continued to bawl at the top of my lungs. The boy stared at me with his strange, glowing eyes large, then sighed heavily. He placed a hand heavily upon my head, and petted my hair slowly as I raised my small fists to my eyes and continued to cry.

_Death Knight...you are not obeying me..._

I stood up quickly as I felt the chill of my master's presence. I was late...so very late. I could not stay here any longer or I would certainly face death!

Gathering up the snuff box and it's treasures quickly, I stowed these into my bag (which thankfully looked untouched), giving them little thought. The scene I had witnessed was gone, I could no longer recall why I'd taken so long in this, the enemy's house. Ignoring the faint tickling that still persisted somewhere in the back of my mind, I secured my bag to my belt, donned my Initiate's hood, and reclaimed my sword. My fears steadied somewhat once I held the cold metal in my hands again. I had to find blood...I could not return to Ebon Hold with my blade clean. I had to show them I was not weak!

Cautiously I left the room, walking slowly at a slight crouch, one food in front of the other. My ears strained to hear any noise within the house, but other than a muted clock ticking somewhere in another room, all was as silent as the grave. A slight frown touched my face; so obviously I had been brought into this house by one of the Crusade...but where had they gone? They did not think me so weak and sorrowful that they actually took pity upon me? Me? A Death Knight? I was their shadow of death! I was...

A muted sound of a small jar breaking met my ears as I descended the stairs, and I tensed. Someone _was_ here...perfect! A dark smile gracing my lips I hefted my sword between my hands, and moved swiftly and silently towards the kitchen, where the noise had come. As I moved around the stone fireplace, my eyes beheld a man with straight blonde hair cut just at the tops of his ears and shorn nearly to his scalp below that. His arms were heavy with food, and a heavy bag was slung over his shoulder. My eyes narrowed and a ball of ice formed in my stomach as my eyes caught a glimpse of his crimson and white tabard.

Sensing my approach, the man swiftly raised his head. Gasping, he dropped his food supplies, and narrowly dodged my sword as I swung it at him. My blade harmlessly cut through the air and came to rest in the wood of the table he'd been standing in front of. I growled softly in my throat as I struggled to free my sword from the table before the man could retaliate. I would not be known as the Death Knight that was bested by a Scarlet Crusade with the help of his dinner table!

"Anastasja, hold! I'm not your enemy!" the man said quickly, holding his hands towards me. My eyes widened as he uttered my name, and I stared at him in horror. A fierce trembling befell me; a Scarlet Crusade bastard...who knew my name...! They HAD tortured the information from me!

Crying out in rage, the table finally released it's hold on my blade, and I swung it at the man again. He cried out as it narrowly missed his face, a backwards tumble over a wooden chair his savior. He scrambled to his feet with another yelp of fear as I cleaved the chair in two, once again missing my target. I could kill the Scarlet Crusade so easily before, why could my blade not meet it's mark with this man?

I chased him through the house, dodging and leaping the furniture and knickknacks he tossed in my way. With another shout of rage I swung the sword at him, intent on cleaving his head from his shoulders. A partially closed door halted my blow this time, as he attempted to flee the house and slam the front door on me at the same time. Hissing angrily I pulled my sword free quickly this time, and stalked outside.

The man was already on the ground when I exited, one hand held up in a motion of surrender, his eyes trained upon a dark figure on horseback blocking his way to freedom. My eyes widened as I found Ire standing at the end of the front path, staring at the man without emotion. Her eyes flickered towards me briefly, then back to the man, but she did not reach for the blade upon her back.

"Why is this man not slain yet? You were so quick to snuff their life before, have you weakened since then?" she inquired, her voice revealing nothing. I stiffened, my hands clenched tightly around the leather-wrapped hilt in my palms. My teeth clenched...how dare she hint that I was weak when she was the one who nearly died the first time out? Without a word I continued advancing on the man, raising my sword above my head.

"Anastasja, stop! Please, don't you remember me? I'm your uncle, Aferdita's husband!" the man cried desperately, crawling backwards on his back, one hand still helplessly held out in a feeble attempt at stopping me. "Uncle Liridon, don't you remember me? Einat would bring you to come help pick berries when the crops were ripe every year...you can't have forgotten!" I felt a sickened feeling wash through me as his words rang through my head. Yes...I could almost see the rows of berry plants, heavy with fruit...the chilly morning air waking me quickly as I was carried outside, still sleepy...

The blinding crimson of his tabard struck the memory from my mind, and I narrowed my eyes. "I will give you a moment to close your eyes, so that you may see whatever pleasantry you can call forth, to comfort you. I will give you that mercy." I said, my voice cold. The man trembled, tears filling his brown eyes as he searched my face for any hope that I would not do this. He sobbed once, and I watched as hope fled him like a bird before a consuming fire. His hand slowly lowered as he shut his eyes, his mind at that one moment, ready for what was to come.

I finished it without hesitation.

Shaking the blood from my sword and securing it to my back, I took the hand that Ire stretched out to me and allowed myself to be pulled atop her horse. I placed my hands on her hips as she kicked her mount into action, the movement jarring me and causing me to nearly slip from the horse's rump. We rode in silence through New Avalon, the streets eerily empty from the last I remember. How much had I missed? I needed to find out.

Instead of inquiring our current movement, my mouth betrayed me and instead asked; "Do you still dream, Ire?"

Ire glanced over her shoulder and regarded me as best she could around her hood, her brow drawing together in the first real expression I'd ever seen on her face. Wisps of blonde hair blew over her forehead as a sulfur-scented breeze blew at us. I winced at the odor of burning rot mixed in with it, my time in the Scarlet Crusade house had lessened my immunity to the odor of death. Even Ire's scent, thankfully dulled for the most part, by her armor, was threatening to assail my senses. Such a failure of a Death Knight I was...to be affected by this as well...

"I have not dreamt...of anything..." she said hesitantly, her tone suddenly unsure. It was a brief flicker of reality for her, I think. She suddenly looked frightened, worried. "I only dream the master's dream now, to further his will." she added, her voice cold once again. She dismissed our conversation in that swift moment, and I did not pursue it farther. It was true that the master's will was also my dream...but at the same time I could not help but think that other images had plagued me as well...things that were right. Things that were both terrible and bittersweet. Things that hurt to think that I'd forgotten.

My attention snapped back to our surroundings as I found us riding deeper into New Avalon instead of away. Panic surged in my chest as patrolling Scarlet Crusade met my eyes. Ire kept her mount in the shadows and slowed the beast to a slow walk. We went unnoticed as we plodded through a small orchard, but my entire body was tense.

"Where are we going? This is not the way to Ebon Hold." I whispered, leaning toward Ire so she could hear me. She replied in a soft voice, one that I had to strain to hear.

"You have been gone for three days. We have made vast advancements since then." she said. She nodded towards the building looming ahead of us. Lights burned cheerfully within the windows, and I could hear raucous laughter and conversation even from the distance we were.

"Those of us who have survived the battles at the gates of the city now operate from the inn, right in their midst. We have comrades who are very clever at disguising themselves as living, and we operate the inn as it would run normally. The Crusade suspects nothing, the fools." She smirked coldly. "Of course...many find that they do not check out the same way they checked in..."

I shivered.

Ire directed her mount around to the back of the inn, and I found a cluster of Death Knights sitting around at the back. The sound of cheerful conversation was still loud from within, and through one of the glass-bottle windows I caught a glimpse of a Scarlet Crusade tabard. I dismounted carefully, and nodded my thanks to Ire. A Death Knight that had once been a Forsaken, trained his eyes upon me, and grinned coldly.

"What is this, a hostage? The stink of the living is strong on her despite her Initiate's hood..." he said, his voice guttural. "I have not tasted living flesh in quite some time..." he licked his rotting lips with exaggeration, and shifted towards me. My hand instantly went for my sword, ready to fight my own if I had to. The smell of decay back here with them was enough to make my stomach heave, but I resisted.

"She infiltrated the house of a Crusader for several days to get information for us. You smell the stink of her last kill, Habakkuk, nothing more." Ire replied, placing a hand upon my shoulder. My eyes wide with shock, I looked up at the woman who was once a Draenei. Did she...just lie for me? Habakkuk scowled, but settled himself once more, upon the crate he'd been perched upon when we'd arrived. Ire was respected, that much I could plainly see.

"Make way!" A voice called, drawing a dozen pairs of eyes towards the shadow. Noll, Kharkis, and several other Death Knights I did not recognize suddenly emerged from them, between Kharkis and another Death Knight was Koltira Deathweaver, his arms slung over the shoulders of the others. He was so pale that his skin was almost transparent, and his head drooped. He walked the walk of a man in great amounts of pain, his face twisted into a look of agony. Noll's eyes widened as he caught sight of me next to Ire, and a grin spread on his face. To my surprise heat touched my face again, and I looked away from him.

"Open the door." Kharkis grunted, trying to support the weight of Koltira and move carefully but swiftly at the same time. A Gnome Death Knight jumped to his feet the quickest, and opened the door to the inn. Panic rushed through me, could they not see that the inn was full of Scarlet Crusade right now? Koltira would surely be killed with the state he was in and...

It was now that I noticed that the inn, just moments ago filled with noise and light, was now dark. My brows drew together in confusion, wondering if I'd just hallucinated it all. Most of the Death Knights gathered outside clustered at the door to enter as Koltira was carefully brought inside, all of them curious. I, too, trailed behind the crowd, wondering how my superior came to bear such horrible wounds, wondering where the light and noise had gone so quickly.

My latter question was answered the instant I came into the tavern. Scarlet Crusaders were slumped over the tables they'd just moments ago been drinking merrily at. They all looked as if they'd been infected with a horrendous pox that had killed them in seconds. Some still twitched, but were very obviously already dead. The air in the room cooled in an instant, and as I lifted my head to see the one who had descended the stairs, I knew that the unfortunate Crusaders did indeed die instantly.

"Weak. All of you disgust me." Orbaz Bloodbane spat, narrowing his eyes at Koltira. "Get him out of here, he is of no use to us now." he ordered no one in particular. He held out his hand, a purple-black smoke suddenly rising from it. There was a crack of thunder that shook the entire building, and a gate made of shadow suddenly appeared near where Kharkis and the other Death Knight stood with Koltira. I had seen the gate before, it was a spell taught to higher ranked Death Knights, a gate of shadow that would return them to the Ebon Hold. Without a word, Kharkis relinquished duty of supporting Koltira to another, and approached Orbaz Bloodbane reverently while reaching into his bag.

"Sir, if I may." he began, his voice professional and full of respect. He dutifully kept his eyes from meeting Orbaz's, as the man was whispered to be of the first kind of Death Knight, when the souls of Orc Necromancers were placed into the bodies of strong humans. A direct meeting of eyes among Orcs, we'd learned, was a challenge, when one one deemed weaker was the first to make contact.

"What is it?" he snapped, Khakis produced a leather-bound ledger from his bag, and held it out to Orbaz, still avoiding his eyes, but staring at his face.

"I believe this is what you're looking for. It details the schedule of the next courier." he announced. Orbaz snatched the ledger from his hand, and flipped through it quickly. A dark smile crept across his face as his lifeless eyes danced across the pages.

"Excellent, this is exactly what we needed. You may be weak but you have proved yourself useful." he said, giving Kharkis the slightest of nods. "I need time to plan." He turned away from us without formal dismissal, and retreated to the upper level. Those around me began to shift into more comfortable positions, or return outside. We had received no orders, which meant we were on standby for now. I attempted to breathe a sigh of relief as I had not been disciplined for leaving. In fact, it was almost as if they hadn't noticed my absence at all...this was fortunate, in a way.

As I inhaled to sigh, a wave of nausea hit me as the stench of death assailed my senses. The close proximity of all of the more decayed Death Knights around me, as well as the stiffening corpses of the Scarlet Crusade had made the air unbearable. With a hand pressed to my mouth as my stomach heaved, I stumbled away from the center of the tavern, and toward the front window. I pushed it open just enough for a burst of air to swirl in, of which I inhaled gratefully. Such a stench was never noticeable before...what was wrong with me? What had those Scarlet Crusade bastards done to me in the past three days?

In the corner of my eye I saw Noll's face. He had just taken several steps towards me when the door to the inn burst open, revealing Commander Thassarian. We all stood at attention at once, and he stomped in. He looked around at each of our faces, searching, distressed.

"Did you find Koltira? Did he make it out?" he asked, grabbing the nearest Death Knight and clenching her shoulder. She looked at him without emotion, and did not answer him. I tilted my head curiously; Commander Thassarian had sent some of us to find one of our own? Odd, that went against everything we'd been instructed...only the strong survive, those too weak must be left...

Yet, who was I to judge, or question. I had just so recently been reclaimed by a comrade, myself. Perhaps not everything we'd been told...was correct? But how could that be, our master knows all...

"He is no longer imprisoned." one of the Death Knights that had come with Kharkis, stated. Thassarian released the Human's shoulder he'd clenched, and turned to face the Night Elf as he approached. "Commander Deathweaver asked of us to bring you this trophy, to sate you." He held out a brown rucksack that I had not noticed before, one that dripped heavily with dark liquid. Thassarian snatched it from the other man in a hurry, and before I could prepare myself, pulled out the severed head of a man I did not recognize. I gagged as Thassarian hefted it between his hands like a ball, and I leaned heavily on the window frame.

"Anastasja...?" Noll's voice came softly. It was followed by the press of his hand upon my back, patting me in a very comforting, yet so very not a Death Knight, gesture. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, and moved to block anyone's view of my posture and expression, so questions would not be asked. I said nothing to him in return, and attempted to regain control of myself, part of me grateful for even the comfort of his hand.

"This will do. Time for vengeance." Thassarian stated, tossing the head over his shoulder into the room (likely the kitchen) behind him. I winced at the noise it made as it hit the ground, and tried not to picture it. My stomach was calming, thankfully, and I was once again able to stand up straight without any sign of weakness in my expression. For once, as sight-limiting initiate's hoods had been up until that point, I was grateful for it's protection. I felt the familiar chill that I'd grown to know since my birth into the shadows, and the intensity of the smell was lessening.

"Commander Plaguefist and a company of death knights are on their way to raze the Chapel of the Crimson Flame." Thassarian was saying, addressing everyone in the room. I moved to join the rest of them in the center of the tavern, my senses reclaimed. I could feel the presence of my master's will once more, and I knew all was well. "If there are any death knights imprisoned at the chapel, Plaguefist will get them out. I want all of you to report to him and assist him." All of us gathered saluted him, and as one unit of black death, raced out of the inn and towards the chapel nestled against the mountains on the other side of town. There was no question or hesitation now, only that we'd been given orders, and it was time to continue working in our master's name.

My mind was blissfully empty of discomfort, empty of memories. Empty of all that which would hinder me.

Flames erupted from the chapel roof as we raced towards it, alerting the Scarlet Crusaders from all over town. We met many of them head-on as they raced around, trying to find water and mages to staunch the flames. There were many of them, but enough of us to cut them down before they'd had barely enough time to even drop into a battle stance or lift their hands to cast their spells. Once again my sword was moistened with the blood of the Scarlet Crusade, although it did not meet the flesh of more than three. My limbs were strangely stiff, my hands numb, and it made swinging my blade difficult.

I arrived at the chapel, trailing behind the others. The numbness in my hands spread up my arms as I stared at the burning chapel, the flames' orange light dancing across my face. The heat from it was intense, but I felt myself shivering. There were Death Knights lighting wicks that hung out of glass bottles and throwing it at the chapel, some hooting in glee as it added to the flames. Others showed no emotion as they contributed to the fire, their will fully belonging to our master. Shutting my eyes, I looked away from the burning holy place, and joined those I'd come with, in front of Commander Plaguefist.

"We got here, tore the place apart, and headed toward the prison house." he was saying, gesturing to the building barely visible behind a wall of tall shrubbery. It was not far from where we stood by the Chapel, but far enough to not be in danger of catching fire. Although, I couldn't help but think, that wouldn't be such a bad thing...

"We weren't expecting what we found in there," Plaguefist continued, "seems the Crusade's been real busy. That whole thing is full of Argent Dawn prisoners. Most of them were already dead by the time we arrived, but a few were still breathing. Found a bunch of townsfolk hiding beneath some floorboards as well." he chuckled to himself, likely remembering the discovery. "I was about to go in there and execute the rest of them, but I think you guys should have the honors. Just go in and find the feistiest ones...you'll get the greatest pleasure from executing those. Bonus points if it's an Argent Dawn bastard." he gave us a toothy grin as he finished. We saluted Commander Plaguefist, and a dozen of us moved as one towards the prison house.

Sawdust. That was the first thing I noticed about the run-down, barred-windowed building. The floor and air was peppered with sawdust, like it was some sort of lumber mill. Why there was so much, I'll never know, but I will always remember the heavy smell of sawdust, so thick that it nearly choked me. Broken furniture littered the floor as well, and all throughout the house were chained, cuffed, and manacled people. Most wore tabards of the Argent Dawn, the black and gold design depicting the holy orb of the Light forming a jagged knot in my chest. The Scarlet Crusade emblem filled me with intense rage, this one...this one was...

Sitting among the Argent Dawn, all sobbing frightfully, were people dressed in everyday clothing. It did not escape my eyes that they were mostly women and the sick or elderly. Some clutched children to their breasts, hiding their faces from us. The Death Knights and I walked carefully among the prisoners, our footsteps muted as we moved like shadows among them, searching for our victims.

My eyes landed upon a woman wearing a yellow dress, who was already staring at me. My eyebrows drew together as I realized I'd seen her suntanned face and brown hair before, but I could not recall when and where. Finding that her frightened eyes were giving me the most discomfort, I made my choice and moved swiftly towards her. She looked away from me as I approached, her expression hard and her lips pressed together into a thin line.

"You disgust me." she said in a low voice, looking at the floor. I took my sword from my back as she stood, and held it ready. I expected her to throw herself at me in some desperate last attempt at freedom, perhaps to knock me off balance and run for her life. She surprised me by standing still, and holding her head high, her eyes staring straight into mine. "You don't remember me, do you Anastasja?" she said, her voice hard, angry. "Everything my sister gave you...and you spit upon it by letting yourself get taken by the Scourge. They've tried to drain you of everything that made you a beacon of the Light, every ounce of good...everything that made you human!"

My hands were shaking visibly, my sword rattling slightly. It was hard to breathe...

The woman let out a frustrated sobbing noise, although there were no tears present in her eyes or on her cheeks. The expression she gave me as her eyes met mine again was one of despair and...pity..? "I blame myself...it is because of me that Einat was too afraid to leave the Scarlet Crusade when the Argent Dawn extended it's hand towards us. If I had not filled her head with such unwarranted fears, she would still be alive...and you would not have ended up this way..." She let out a bitter laugh, and raised her bound hands to wipe at her eyes. "No...no. It's too much to hope to think that you would not join the Argent Dawn even if you had escaped sooner. Always following after that hero of yours, Darion Mograine."

A tight feeling was forming in my chest.

The woman looked back at me again, this time her expression desperate and pleading. She reached out her bound hands, and placed it gently over mine. They were warm, her hands, and soft. Hands that were so achingly similar to someone else...someone I knew yet could not recall. "You must fight whatever they've done to you, Anastasja Glasstree. Break free of this control. You were a hero in your own right before, and you can be again...you were always a brave, clever little girl! Remember! Remember everything, the good, the bad! Our summers in the Hinterlands, the days those Mograines would take you exploring...the harvest days...remember it all!"

"Times up kids, what's taking some of you so long?" Plaguefist's voice came from outside. I sensed several others around me jump in startlement, and hurry to complete what they'd come to do. I, however, continued to stand as if stone, my entire body trembling. The woman had turned her head towards Plaguefist's voice when he had shouted, and now slowly faced me once more. Tears were on her cheeks now, and she gave me a helpless smile.

"There...there's no more time for me." she said sadly, her smile unwavering. She released my hands and took a step back. She knelt again, and sobbed once. "Finish the job then, Anastasja. Just please...remember the Hinterlands...remember Einat. Remember...that this world is worth saving." She shut her eyes then. I inhaled a trembling breath, and released it in an anguished cry as my blade seemed to move on it's own. Pale flesh was stained red, gore exposed to the air, and the woman's body fell to the floor. Suddenly I understood...the purpose of the sawdust...


End file.
